Tripod Libido

There is a tripod of trauma that underlays my libido

Sex as magnet attracting and repulsing

Damning in the polarity to remain battered by nothingness

The marriage being fucked by a cowgirl in a New Orleans hotel room

Last time with a condom the prenatal vitamins under sink un-swallowed

Her father’s tuxedo shirt I forgot back in the country for the city mouse

To scurry down Bourbon Street to Canal Place and pound like the graduate

To purchase my own fashion, button up proper neck size

Breathe

Walk in to a holiday party of her coworkers and see the scorn

In the eye of an embarrassed woman ten days later releasing the flood gate

The hell of what it is to marry a human you love for a decade who never loved you

Deciphering the illusion in the rubble of divorce blindsided like a roadside bomb

Parked in the family garage where memories swerve off the road into rape

Emotional and defiled where a body near feels like an intruder waiting

To swap kiss for razor blade hid under the pillow and slit the cinema into a bloodbath

The desire to have a family grow, to have a family be valid, to be able to be imperfect

Accepted for the innate and not castigated into the villain of a storyline spun upon the town

The first leg taught that to love one must require a commensurate wager in return

The second the danger of pregnancy the uncontrollable forks in trail genetic replication produces

The pothole roads and abortion parking lot vomit of when under fire

Your own weapon of self-defense backfires and the bunker begins to implode

Shot bloody from the first war of courts taking out your ally and conversion into a second enemy

Back and forth trading sides for half a decade more bruised battered in a minefield of silence

Attempting to cross the Rio Grande back into home country and every step feels like a vagabond

Staring at a post-apocalyptic hell-scape sorting the idea that any woman could ever be safe again

Vagina’s feel like pincer bombardiers honey pot IED’s churning Russian Roulette

Feeling like every time I get the bullet, a different way to die

The living kid reminder marketed insurgent and the dead like reasons to stare into the shower drain

That I have to make my and her separate lives worth a damn like I owe it to the blood

Atheist tilt to Catholic guilt a road taken in time to understand what it means when the other does not love you, accepting and not repeating similar errors

The third the cautious fear clamp down to play the part, the lure of the poetry to dare love

To feel the universe masking god’s face as if purpose existed beyond the crucifix

To do my best to just hold on as the rollercoaster burst the first turn, the drop and the exhilarating terror

To lie naked in the meadow eyeing a creek and the first rush of breeze upon my cheeks

Deciphering her blue eyes from brown to green to this, feeling the sight of home for the first arc in fifteen years, pacing as slow as I can muster, pressing her body to the wall in the foyer, the passenger seat The levee, the sofa cushion, the bed sheets and keeping tangled legs unable to undo the fishing string

Blocking myself emasculated out of fear of exactly what happened in the morning

Abandonment without a face, wordless and gone girl refusal to put a pillow on the floor

As a man crashes, head burst a glass coffee table clunking dragged through a triad of eye sights

Staring at him through the darkness ingesting possibility itself

Into how to do this; how to be

Libido crumpled inward like a turtle burrowed in the mud for winter

Praying for the warmth of the sun

A reprieve for a leg to rely    

Contemplating the tripod between his groin muscles to three sets of irises

Testicles and cock like a bloody ink pen tree trunk

Growing monstrous gorgeous redwoods to peer into the heavens

Knowing it is only his own legs like rooted pillars a man should or will ever stand